After I came out of the closet my thoughts, dreams and prayers cried out for male companionship.
All I could think about was: “Wow. I finally did it! Now I can find that soulmate. We’ll live in a world without doubt or frustration and let love be our guiding light. Who’s up?”
I learned that, indeed, you can’t hurry love, not even if you corner it, peg it down and lay claim.
Weathered by a decade of dating disappointment and romantic ruin, I met a man who could possibly prove my theory of “there-ain’t-no-soulmate-for-me” false.
Imagine a younger, sexier Kevin Spacey with wide-eyed ambition, a beautiful singing voice and a body reminiscent of Marky Mark’s Calvin Klein campaign.
I assumed this coupling would soon be sabotaged by my patented brand of interpersonal ineptitude. However, it opened my eyes to something I have found common in the gay community: the “fools rush in” scenario.
We had literally not even finished our first date when the first warning sign smacked me across the behind. “Marky Spacey” took me to a karaoke bar of which he had been a regular. Marky took to the mic and began to sing “Crimson and Clover.”
Effectively inebriated I swooned at his melodies, but was gripped by a curiosity at the subtext he brought to the lyrical rearrangement “I don’t hardly know him. But I think I could love him.”
Of course, I could not really make a case out of this… but it would prove to be quite telling in the near future.
On our second date, he invited me to his place and made dinner. We eventually made our way to his couch for a much-appreciated make out session. Then that old Bee Gees tune “How Deep is Your Love?” came from his stereo.
Much to my dismay, Marky did not appreciate the ironic twist I put on the moment he led me in a slow dance. I think he genuinely believed a romantic moment had been captured. Yet again, the word “love” ate its way into one of our dates.
There seems to be a pattern here. I have to wonder why gay men and lesbians feel a burning need to jump from points A to B and then straight to Y and Z at breakneck speed.
My traditional ideals of courtship and discovery may have no place in today’s gay world.
Saul and Andy met and within a month had moved into a condo they could scarcely afford. They racked up a credit card bill with everything a certain Swedish furniture store could bestow and began playing house.
It would not last.
A friend of theirs had it in his head to do them one better. Meeting a guy at a bar, he invited him to move in within a matter of 14 days.
I even received an email from a similar lovelorn gent on a personals site. His profile included “I have a beautiful home and maybe you can move in.” What?
I had to put a period on the end of yet another potential boyfriend. His rush was a bit much to handle.
I knew the expiry date had come when he had us making plans for six months down the road. Egad.
Who am I to know what is “good,” “healthy” or “wise” for anyone else? I just want to know somebody before I ask my mother to give me away at the altar.